


A Sweet Disorder

by Mab (Mab_Browne)



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Community: sentinel_thurs, Fluff, M/M, Mild Kink, Salirophilia, Sentinel Thursday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-09-01 06:21:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8612629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mab_Browne/pseuds/Mab
Summary: Blair finds that he likes it when Jim looks messy. Really likes it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for challenge #565 at Sentinel Thursday, to celebrate my discovery of a new word, namely salirophilia, which refers to a kink where the object of your desire getting messy, mussed or dirty is sexy. This is pretty mild really. :-) (The actual prompt was 'street'.)

Blair had it struck home to him just how much trouble he was in when Jim got into a knock-‘em down brawl with a robber in the street. Thomas McIvor was an ex-soldier, not elite, and gone to seed, but tough and desperate enough to challenge Jim, however briefly. Jim, being someone that Blair was totally getting into trouble over, rose to McIvor’s challenge, while Blair watched with his heart in his mouth, poised on the balls of his feet and ready to do something. He wasn’t quite sure what, Jim had McIvor down on the Cascade sidewalk, but Blair still watched, anxious and on guard until Jim hauled McIvor to his feet with an energy that made McIvor wince at the pressure on his bound arms.

Jim looked around. There was a heavy bruise coming out on his cheek that made Blair wince too, but at the leading edge of the wince was an unexpected fascination. Jim’s jeans were marked with water and grease from the street, and ripped at one knee. He and McIvor had grappled in close quarters, and his shirt tails hung out. Buttons had popped out of their button holes at the neck and the right sleeve was ripped some two inches at the back shoulder seam. The frown on Jim’s face cleared at the sight of a patrol car pulling up – Blair imagined that outraged citizens forced to make their way around two brawling men had lit up the PD emergency switchboard like a fireworks display.

McIvor was delivered to justice, and Blair sat next to Jim while Jim tapped out a report, knowing that he was staring but unable to stop until Jim turned to him.

“Is this another one of those adrenalin things? You might as well have laser beams for eyes, Sandburg.”

“Ah, sorry. But I was, you know, worried.”

Jim snorted. It was entirely unattractive, and still Blair fought the urge to keep right on staring.

“The day I can’t take down someone like McIvor is the day I’ll start riding a desk.”

“Yeah, yeah, macho man,” Blair said derisively, but he knew he was covering his own reaction far more than he was mocking Jim. “Look, I have things to do so how about I head back to the loft and let you do the police stuff?”

“If you’re home, you’re providing dinner,” Jim said, somewhat absent as he concentrated on negotiating the new electronic report system.

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Blair said and escaped.

The next two weeks were one beat-off marathon, while Blair worked it all out. It wasn’t the fight itself – that was primal, and absolutely kind of hot in a way of Jim being (flexibly) athletic and coolly competent in violence, but that wasn’t what turned his crank. (Well, not only.) It sure as hell wasn’t the bruises and cuts.

No, it was the torn and dirty clothes. It was Blair’s normally neat and self-possessed, tidy Jim all mussed up and in disarray. And that was when Blair knew he really was in trouble, because that was an interesting but harmless kink, but _Blair’s_ Jim? Even in the privacy of his bedroom, _his_ Jim, that thought in his head with his hand on his hard-on?

Yeah, big trouble.

~*~

Blair eventually decided that a trouble shared was a trouble halved. Or something, and it turned out that Jim had been troubled himself, and now there was no trouble at all, but there was one hell of a lot of good sex, which was occasionally spiced with a Jim who wasn’t his usual neatnik self. The fishing trip where Jim slipped on some rocks in the river, he emerged soaking wet and grinning embarrassedly at himself, and Blair pretty much pounced. There was the very mini-food fight when they were in a goofy mood and Blair judged that he was safe in chucking a few strands of spaghetti at Jim’s chest. They had a broad landing field and straggled down the grey t-shirt as a pointer to various treasures, and Blair knew exactly which ‘X’ marked each spot.

And then there was tonight, with a security detail for the Chief of Police, and Jim putting on his suit and knotting his tie. Blair leaned off to the side, enjoying the show, but also imagining the show a little messier. Those buttons popped. The tie hanging loose. A glass of water accidentally spilled in Jim’s lap. Not that Blair would do that because he wasn’t into humiliating Jim at work, but the fantasy was… nice.

“Forget it, Chief.”

“Forget what?” Blair asked.

“Whatever evil plans your little mess kink is hatching.”

Blair’s face went hot. “Mess kink? I don’t have a mess kink.”

“Yes, you do, and not with my damn suit, okay? You had that look in your eye.” Jim was serene, but definite.

Blair fumbled for words. “It’s, uh, it’s not a bad look? In my eye? I mean, you don’t mind?”

“No I don’t mind. Within reason.” Jim grew a little nervous. “I really don’t mind, okay. And I don’t want to overstep or embarrass you. But I like this suit.”

“Keep the suit pristine. Got it. But if I promise to not hurt your suit, could we have some fun when we get home?”

“What sort of fun?”

The sneak attacks had been so much easier, but Blair swallowed and said, “I’d like to… muss you up a little.”

Jim paused in his preening. “Muss me up.” He looked utterly gorgeous, tall and handsomely GQ in what was not actually that expensive a suit – but Jim could make anything look good.

“You’d probably have to get your suit pressed, but I promise that there won’t be a mark left anywhere.” Blair pressed against Jim’s side, and ran his tongue over suddenly sensitive lips to indicate how careful he’d be to ensure against… spills.

Jim looked gorgeous, but he’d be even more gorgeous sprawled on the couch, one shoe off, one shoe on, the tie loose and haphazardly knotted around his neck, his shirt out at the waist, his fly undone. Maybe, if Blair promised that it absolutely was just water, and warm, maybe Jim would let him have that last finishing touch of beautiful mess.

Jim looked uncertain, but Blair smiled one of his very best smiles, and Jim’s discomfort melted into a warm, easy sensuality.

“Well, if you promise not to do anything that’s going to be expensive, I guess I could let you muss me up a little.”

“Yeah, just a little,” Blair promised, and looked forward to the return home like Odysseus longing for a sight of Ithaca. He’d come home to a mess, too, Blair mused, but nowhere near as much fun.


End file.
